Christmas, snow, the wind, and kissing
by raichley
Summary: An exercise in description. Very short and sweet (I hope). Dean/Cas and their first kiss.


Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in this fic.

The wind is a mysterious being.

Sometimes, it is calm enough that you forget it even exists. Sometimes, all you can feel is the faint brush of nothing against your cheek, or the cold air stroking your hand softly and slowly. Sometimes, you cannot feel it at all.

Other times are different, though.

Wind can make your cheeks feel blue, and it can make music with the leaves in the trees. It can rattle against the windows and it can battle with your umbrella. It can twist and turn until it forms a storm that causes lives to be lost. It can rage and rush and pull even the strongest trees up by their roots.

Wind is powerful. Wind is gentle. Wind is nothing but the passage of air.

Right now, the wind is softly pushing against the windows of a shiny Chevy Impala. The wheels of the car are stuck in heavy snow, piled high and white around the car, but the driver has forgotten about pulling it out. The engine is quiet and the radio is dead, and there's frost on the windows but the inside of the car is warm and comfortable and empty.

The driver is leaning against the hood. Shoes shoved messily into the pile of cold snow, jeans dampened by the melted ice around his ankles, cheeks tinted with red by the bitter cold, he stands there with his eyes closed and his lips pressed firmly against those of the angel in front of him. His hands grip tight to his partner's pale trenchcoat, as if letting go will have disastrous consequences for the two of them, and he pulls the angel as close to him as he can.

The angel's eyes are open. They are blue, and sharp as lightning as they count the freckles on the human boy's cold face. A half second ago, he was wondering what his best friend was doing - was kissing not a thing between lovers? - but now he knows the answer. Yes, kissing is a thing done between lovers. And he does not mind being lovers.

After all, he loves Dean.

He has loved Dean for a long time. He has loved Dean like the sun loves the moon, lighting it up in the darkness so it shines bright upon the dark earth below. Yet the sun is invisible in the night, and the moon does not come out 'til then, and this is not night anyway. Not any more. It's day now. Day, with the sunlight piercing and the clear blue sky and the high-piled snow around their feet. Day is much brighter than the night. It's easier to see, now, how much he truly loves the human whose lips are connected to his. He wonders if Dean can see the same thing.

Dean, at this moment, is savouring the taste of Cas's buttery soft lips and the smell of the angel so close to him. He's half-relieved, half-confused by the fact that Cas, his best friend and not his lover, did not pull away in that moment of misjudgement when he pulled Cas towards him and sealed his lips to his angel's. Cas and he were not partners, not in that way at least. He'd never shown any sign of reciprocating Dean's feelings towards him.

And yet...

And yet, Dean realised, he did. Why else would he be kissing back, pushing his lips further against his own? Why else would his hands be resting on Dean's back, pulling him ever closer, not wanting to let go?

His grip on the trenchcoat tightened, holding Cas to him. This was reckless, stupid, misguided. This was what ruined friendships. This was him telling Cas how he really felt in a split second decision he could never take back. And, in the moment, it was perfect.

But the moment ended, and Dean felt Cas's lips leaving his, and the cold wind pressed against his face and he could no longer feel the heat of another body all around him.

He opened his eyes to find Cas staring at him. Green eyes met blue, and both were silent and gentle.

A half second passed, and then another, and another until it felt like forever and they were still staring silently into the other's eyes. The snow built up around their feet; Dean was sure his toes should be blue by now, but he couldn't feel them and he didn't care about anything except the bright blue eyes of the angel standing in front of him.

Eventually, Cas's mouth moved. One side moved upwards in a crooked half-smile, and then he spoke in the deep, beautiful voice that Dean would know whenever, wherever, whatever.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."


End file.
